Hope
by the ticking clock
Summary: No matter what happened to them, Aragorn would never forget their friendship, even when their future seemed uncertain. A filler scene in between the fellowship of the ring and the two towers.


**Takes place somewhere in between the fellowship of the ring and the two towers when Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas are tracking the orcs who have taken Merry and Pippin...**

Salt. He tasted salt.

Legolas's eyelids fluttered as he struggled to pull his mind back to consciousness, to reality.

It wasn't salt. Blood.

There was blood in his mouth.

His body strained, fought against the darkness that was beckoning his mind, but he was so tired, and...

Pain.

Reality was pain. Hot and piercing, it struck him over and over in an endless stream of blows, raining down on him like a storm. The bones in his arm were shattered-sticking up through his skin with the accuracy of a razor. He couldn't breathe...

Hands, rough and unfamiliar, seized his shoulders. "Legolas?" The voice was deep, tugging at his memory like a long-forgotten dream, but the hands held him so tight and it _hurt. _

He snarled through the pain and dug the fingers of his good hand into the arms around him, scratching, clawing, fighting to be free.

"Calm down, elf! You need to hold still!"

That voice, again, was familiar, but-

He began to panic. Memories were flashing and biting at his weakened mind, memories of pain and torture and agony, and he didn't know if that was the present, or if he was dreaming, only that he needed to escape. He needed-

"Shh, shh, Legolas. Aragorn, I need you!"

Legolas's breathes' were coming fast and frantic now, and the pain of taking in air was so strong that he wanted to scream. But screaming meant breathing, and breathing hurt.

"Legolas?"

That voice he knew. Knew it like he knew his own, and he gasped wildly, more in an effort to speak than to escape. He needed to tell-

"hush, mellon nin, hush. Calm yourself. Shhh..."

But Legolas had reached a state of complete lack of control, and he could not slow his breathing any more than he could run and jump at the moment. His lungs screamed, his head pounded and swum, and the shattered bones in his right arm sent waves of fire racing through his body. His fingers spasmed in the grass, clutching nothing but dirt and air. He wanted to _scream-_

"Legolas!" Hands, cupping his face, fingers pressed against his temples. The gentle pressure of a touch he would have known anywhere.

His eyes flashed open, and the light exploded with such force that he gasped. The light flickered and faded in disorienting colors and shapes, swimming in time with his pounding head until-

"Legolas. Look at me. _Look at me._" Fingers pressed gently against his cheeks, his temples. "Breathe, Las."

Slowly, carefully, he allowed his eyes to open. The light hurt. His chest burned-

"Legolas." The voice was firm, almost commanding. "Calm yourself, mellon nin. Shh..."

Almost without him realizing it, Legolas's breathing gradually slowed until his breaths were small gasps and not frantic and wild, until his thoughts no longer flashed wildly, until he was calm enough to focus his vision.

Aragorn was leaning over him, face twisted with worry. His hands were pressed against Legolas's cheeks, but he lowered them now, slowly. "Legolas," He said softly, slowly. "What happened to you? We lost you two days ago by the river, and Gimli thought Orcs..."

Legolas looked down and away. His head was spinning so wildly that he was having difficulty remembering details, or anything beyond the sharp tang of blood in his mouth. He fought for it, though, because Aragorn was asking, and because he wanted to know as well. He needed to remember. But his thoughts shimmered and slipped through his mind like an elusive fish, and he could not grasp them however hard he tried.

Aragorn's hand closed about his unbroken wrist, gently. "I apologize, mellon nin. We will not speak of it now." He spoke the words in Elvish, and the familiar language combined with the softness reminded Legolas why he trusted this mortal, this man who had known him for over seventy-years, more than any other person still left in Middle Earth. The touch spoke of years long-forgotten and fading, memories that made him laugh, a dancing child with mischievous silver eyes.

_Estel. _

Legolas looked up at his friend. "Estel," He whispered. "The orcs will return for me, you must leave me here. The hobbits-"

"I am not leaving you," Aragorn snapped at him, in the Common Tongue so Gimli, who Legolas had forgotten until that moment, could understand. "You need a healer."

When Legolas groaned, Aragorn's lips twitched up into a smile. "Show me your arm, Las. Or do I need to knock you unconscious before you let me touch you?"

Sighing, Legolas clenched his jaw and turned away, letting Aragorn know that the man could proceed.

With practiced ease, Aragorn slid Legolas's bracers off his arms and gently rolled up the sleeve, hissing at the bones protruding from the elf's skin. "Valar, Las, what did you do this time?"

Legolas grimaced. He vaguely remembered the bones in his arm shattering-it was accompanied by snarling beasts and screaming hobbits. He had been to late to stop Merry and Pippen from being carried away again.

Aragorn did not ask anything more. Gently, he prodded the injury, eyes flicking up to Legolas's face for a brief moment. "I'm sorry," he said, in Elvish again. "This will hurt. Gimli, will you hold him down, for me please?" He tossed the last words in Common over his shoulder.

Legolas stared at his friend in outrage. "Estel-"

"You are not thinking clearly, Legolas," The Ranger said simply, already placing his hands in the position they needed to be to reset the bones, "and I cannot have you knocking me unconscious when I am trying to heal you."

Gimli's large, rough hands pushed with surprising gentleness against Legolas's good shoulder. "Easy there, Lad. He's just trying to help."

"Ready?" Aragorn whispered in Elvish, indicating to Gimli that he should hold Legolas firmer.

Legolas clenched his eyes shut, and nodded.

"One." The word was a soft whisper. "Two-"

Legolas screamed as the darkness took him.

OoO

"I cannot believe you are so calm about this."

Aragorn turned to look at the dwarf with eyebrows raised. "Really?"

Gimli crossed his arms over his broad chest and nodded. "That's your best friend lying there, and..." He shook himself. "Forgive me, but-"

Smiling a sharp, tightlipped smile, Aragorn ran his fingers lightly over Legolas's swollen arm, ensuring that the bones were set so they would mend with the elf's natural healing ability before he began to fashion a splint. "I have gotten used to injuries over the years, dwarf. You forget that I am not as young as I look."

Gimli snorted, but let the statement pass and came to kneel down beside Legolas. "Will he live?"

"He will," Aragorn murmured, reaching out with a wet cloth to wipe the blood from Legolas's chin and cool his friend's flushed cheeks. "He has had much worse." Lightly, he pressed against the elf's side, detecting two broken ribs, and Legolas whimpered in his sleep, tensing away from the touch. "I am sorry," Aragorn whispered in Elvish, giving Legolas's good hand a squeeze. "Sleep."

He sat back and ran a hand over his face, allowing himself a brief moment of complete exhaustion before he went back to his work. Running for days, leading the fellowship, Boromier's death and then the running again was beginning to take its toll. He knew he would need to rest soon before he collapsed, but the Ranger and warrior in him silenced the anxious healer, and kept him on his feet.

"Do you think they're hurting them, Gimli?" He asked, because he needed someone to talk to, and because the thought presented itself to him. "Merry and Pippen?"

The Dwarf seemed surprised at being asked, but he said after a moments hesitation, "I hope not, Laddie. I hope not."

"We've been tortured before," Aragorn said quietly, motioning to Legolas. "And those hobbits do not deserve anything like that to happen to them. They do not deserve to even be on this quest."

"But they are," The dwarf said gruffly, coming to sit down next to him. "And so are you. And so am I. And so is Legolas. So is Sam, and Frodo, and they're the ones that have to go to the mountain of fire now, all alone. I know that's not your fault, Lad. We all failed to protect Frodo when he needed it most, but you cannot dwell on it now."

Aragorn managed a small smile. "When did you become so wise, Mater Dwarf?"

Gimli huffed, and waved a hand. "That's not wisdom, Aragorn. That's good, old-fashioned dwarven sense. And so is this: Go to sleep. I'll take first watch."

"Gimli-"

The dwarf leveled a stern look at him, and fingered the axe at his belt. "Do not make me knock you unconscious," he said, mimicking Aragorn's earlier words.

Giving in, Aragorn laid down next to Legolas, closing his eyes but remaining alert so he could jump up at a moments notice, and let the dreams slowly seep into his consciousness.

OoO

The pain woke him.

It was not from his arm, but his ribs, and the sharp ache burned right through his dreams. His eyes flashed open and he let out a low snarl, at his own weakness and the pain of the injury.

Gimli was sitting too far away from him to hear his soft sound of discomfort, but a being stirred next to him, and Aragorn breathed, "Las?"

"Here," Legolas murmured back in Elvish, half closing his eyes again.

Aragorn's eyes found him in the darkness, eerily bright. "Will you be able to sleep through the pain? Do you need anything?"

The archer smiled, a little. "Will you never stop taking care of me?"

His old friend smirked at his tone. "Will you ever stop breaking bones?"

Legolas managed a soft laugh, even though it hurt. "Oh, Estel, what are we going to do? The hobbits-"

"Are strong," Aragon replied, closing his eyes. "As are you. We will survive this, Las. We always survive."

"Sometimes I wonder how," Legolas murmured. He could almost see Aragorn's smile in the darkness, even though the man was no longer looking at him.

"Because," Aragorn replied. "We are just to stubborn and foolish to abandon hope."


End file.
